A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I run the self-cleaning cycles on both the dishwasher and the washing machine.

I deep clean the air fryer.

I change the sheets, then decide it’s time to flip the mattress, then decide the mattress protector is stained and it’s time to open the new one, still in packaging in the cupboard somewhere—don’t worry, I’ll find it—the brand name one I bought on sale a few years back so that if one of my children vomited in my bed in the middle of the night, I’d have a spare. (Do you ever think to plan like this? Now that there is no one doing all the invisible labour?)

I decide to wash the pillow protector—but then I remember I have a brand new pillow too, and today suddenly seems to demand it.

I wonder what sorcery sparked this motivation, until I see the calendar and the entirety of the past week makes sudden sense. I would like freedom enough that this is any ordinary weekend, like last weekend or the next, but for now I will settle for symbolic freshness and peaceful sleep.